


Not The Worst Part

by needyoucap



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Come Eating, Face-Fucking, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needyoucap/pseuds/needyoucap
Summary: Written for the Tony Stark BingoSquare: R1 DarkficCard number: 3084“I somehow doubt you were rescued from your interrogation training, Widow,” he mumbles, still unsure what his team is doing here.It’s Clint’s blood draining from his face as he says “Interrogation training?” in a small voice Tony’s never heard him use before that gives it away.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49
Collections: Tony Stark Bingo





	Not The Worst Part

They break his hand.

It’s better than the water torture, but _fuck_ , he needs his hands. He’ll have to go to an actual doctor to get the bones set if he wants to be able to use the hand again.

But still, the torture...it’s not the worst part.

He flinches when he hears the door slam. His head aches and his hand is throbbing. He feels hands at his wrists, and realizes they’re untying him, but he can’t make a move to escape because at least two people take him by the biceps and manhandle him out of his seat. They leave the blindfold on.

“Bring him over here, boys,” says a gruff voice. They drag him across the room, and the air is knocked out of Tony’s lungs as they bend him over what feels like a table or a…bench?

He feels a slap on his ass. “Got you your own breeding bench, whore,” is growled into his ear, and Tony goes cold all over.

He knows what’s coming next.

His suspicions are confirmed when hands start yanking at his waistband, and he struggles, trying to kick out at his captors. He feels smug for only a second when he manages to make contact with flesh, but then a slap to the face and a hand gripped tightly in his hair dulls the victory. “Try that again, and we’ll smash your other hand to pieces,” a man growls, and whatever they have planned for him surely can’t be worse than permanently losing the use of his hands.

He wonders if he’d give up the code if they promised to leave his hands alone.

Stripped naked, Tony shivers as someone plants another smack to his ass. Then, “Open up, bitch,” and it feels like he’s impaled with a baseball bat.

Tony howls. His ass is on fire. Cruel laughs echo around him, and one of the men fists Tony’s hair again. “If you’re not gonna talk, maybe we should give you something else to do with that whore mouth of yours, huh?” And a cock is shoved into his mouth. Tony gags and chokes and hopes his hair isn’t ripped out of his scalp.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, but the men take turns. He thinks how sick it is that he’s grateful they come inside him, because it makes the slide easier for each new person.

When he spits out the first load of come, he’s slapped again and told to swallow. Someone scoops it off the floor and tries to feed it to him, but Tony turns his face away. A boot presses down on his broken hand, a warning, and he sobs and licks the semen off of thick fingers. When he’s done, those fingers fuck his mouth, pressing down on his tongue and triggering his gag reflex. Then their owner steps back for the next person to take their place.

Some of the men come on his ass and face, and Tony wonders how many of them there are, or if they all just have non-existent refractory periods.

At least when he gets through this, he might be considered more than a consultant.

What could be hours, days, or only minutes later, there’s a loud bang and gunshots, accompanied by a familiar clang. The two men inside of him are ripped away and the sounds of fighting and yelling fill the room for a moment, then all goes quiet and still. Then, a quiet, “Tony?”

The blindfold is pulled off, and Tony comes face to face with Steve Rogers. No. What is he doing here? Is this part of the test? He doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud until he hears Natasha ask, “what test, Tony?” gently, like she already knows the answer.

Tony’s stomach drops as he looks around the room to see all of the Avengers are standing amongst the dead and unconscious bodies, even Hulk, who looks like he’s not quite done smashing yet. Strong hands pull him from the bench, but, not having the energy to stand, he slumps against Steve’s chest.

“I somehow doubt you were rescued from your interrogation training, Widow,” he mumbles, still unsure what his team is doing here.

It’s Clint’s blood draining from his face as he says “Interrogation training?” in a small voice Tony’s never heard him use before that gives it away.

Tony feels like he’s going to vomit.

He’s made a huge mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a follow-up for this, if the muse cooperates and gives me some damn ideas.


End file.
